The First King of Shannara

Tay stepped back for a good, long look. Like all those he had left behind in Arborlon, it had been five years since he had seen Jerle Shannara. He had missed Jerle the most, he supposed, even more so than the members of his family. For this was his oldest friend, his constant companion while they were boys growing up together in the Westland, the one person to whom he could tell anything, the one to whom he would entrust his life. The bonds had been formed early and had survived even the years the two had spent apart while Tay was at Paranor and Jerle had remained behind, Courtann Ballindarroch’s first cousin, his service to the throne pre-determined from his birth.

Jerle Shannara was born a wamor. He was physically imposing for an Elf, big and strong-limbed, with cat-quick reflexes that belied his size, and a fighter’s instincts. He was training with weapons almost from the time he could walk, in love with combat, enthralled by the excitement and challenge of battle. But there was a great deal more to him than strength and size. He was quick. He was cunning. He was a relentless adversary. His work ethic was prodigious. He never expected less from himself than the best he had to offer, no matter the importance of the task, no matter if anyone was there to see. But most important of all, Jerle Shannara was fearless. It was in his blood or in the way he grew or perhaps in both, but Tay had never known his friend to back down from anything.

They made an odd pair, he reflected. Of similar size and look, both larger than average, blond and long-limbed, and reared with high expectations from their families, they were nevertheless entirely different. Tay was easy going and always the compromiser in difficult situations; Jerle was quick-tempered and confrontational and maddeningly unwilling to back down in any dispute. Tay was cerebral, intrigued by difficult questions and complicated puzzles that challenged and confused; Jerle was physical, preferring the challenge of sports and combat, relying on quick answers and intuition. Tay always knew he wanted to travel and study with the Druids at Paranor; Jerle always knew he wanted to become Captain of the Home Guard, the elite unit of Elven Hunters that protected the king and his family. They were different personalities with different intents and goals, yet something of who and what they were bound them together as surely as ties of blood or the dictates of fate.

“So you’re back,” Jerle announced, releasing Tay and stepping clear. He brushed at his curly blond hair with one massive hand and gave his friend a rakish smile. “Have you come to your senses at last? How long will you stay?”

“I don’t know. But I won’t be going back to Paranor. Things have changed.”

The other’s smile dimmed. “Is that so? Tell me about it.”

“All in good time. But let me do it in my own way. I am here for a specific purpose. Bremen sent me.”

“Then it must be serious, indeed.” Jerle knew the Druid from his time in Arborlon. He paused. “Does it involve this creature they call the Warlock Lord?”

“You were always quick. Yes, it does. He marches south with his armies to attack the Dwarves. Did you know?”

“There are rumors of Troll movement on the Streleheim. We thought they might march west against us.”

“The Dwarves first, you later. I am sent to persuade Courtann Ballindarroch to send the Elves to lend their support. I will need help in this, I expect.”

Jerle Shannara reached for his horse’s reins. “Let’s move off the roadway and sit in the shade while we talk. Do you mind if we don’t continue on to the city just yet?”

“I would rather speak to you alone, first.”

“Good. You look more like your sister every time I see you.”

They walked their mounts into the trees and tied them to a slender ash. “That’s a compliment, you know.”

“I do.” Tay smiled. “How is she?”

“Happy, settled, content with her family.” Jerle gave him a wistful look. “She did well enough without me, after all.”

“Kira was never for you. You know that as well as I. Look at how you live. What would you do in her life? What would she do in yours? You have nothing in common but your childhood.”

Jerle snorted. “That’s true of us as well, yet we remain close.”

“Close is not married. And it’s different with us.”

Tay settled himself on the grass, long legs folded before him.

Jerle hunkered down on a stump worn smooth by time and weather and looked at his boots as if he had never seen them before. His sun-browned hands were crisscrossed with white scars and small red nicks and scratches. Tay could not remember a time when they hadn’t looked like that.

“Are you still Captain of the Home Guard?” he asked his friend.

Jerle shook his head. “I’m considered too important for that these days. I am Courtann’s chief advisor in military matters. His de facto general, second-guessing all the real generals. Not that it matters much just now, since we’re not at war with anyone. But I suppose all that could change, couldn’t it?”

“Bremen believes that the Warlock Lord will attempt to subjugate the other Races, beginning with the Dwarves and then moving on. The Troll army is powerful. If the Races do not join together to stand against it, they will be overwhelmed, one by one.”

“But the Druids won’t let that happen. Moribund as they are these days — no offense, Tay — they wouldn’t stand still for that.”

“Bremen thinks that Paranor has fallen and the Druids have been destroyed.”